


Only Fools

by PinePrincess



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blow Jobs, Catholic Guilt, Elektra ships it, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, First Time, Good Catholic boy Matt, I promise, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Slow Burn, hearing loss, i guess, no Elektra/Matt relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7723909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinePrincess/pseuds/PinePrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of waiting for the police in the graveyard post Irish warehouse, Matt takes Frank home with him and handcuffs him to his dishwasher. Neither are sure why he's there.</p><p>Basically, what happens when Frank goes to the gala with Matt instead of Elektra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Psychobabble

After he told Red about Lisa---why had he done that?---time seemed to slip away. All of a sudden they were up and away. He knew he was limping, could feel the pain radiating through his foot and leg with each step, but the world spun and he felt like he was flying. Over rooftops, down alleyways…they might have been walking for ten minutes or ten years, Frank couldn’t be sure.

With each step, the pounding blood in his ears told him the same thing. _Leave_ , it said, _take off while you still can_. He’d rather bleed out in a dumpster or go to lockup than feel Daredevil’s stiff shoulders under his arm as he leaned against that stupid red suit.

And yet.

 _Pulse---pulse---pulse_ \---

Frank was on the floor, his back up against cold metal. Red stood over him. The darkness of the room was too inviting, as his mind tore at itself, relief battling the urge to fight the man in front of him.

***

Getting Frank back to the apartment took longer than Matt had hoped. By the time he deposited him on the kitchen floor, it was well into the night and Frank was nearly unconscious. Anyone with half a brain could follow the trail of blood from the Irish warehouse back to Matt’s apartment, but he couldn’t worry about that right now, not with The Punisher bleeding out all over his tile. He grabbed his medical kit and a stack of old towels.

He was still not sure why he hadn’t left him for the cops.

He was not yet prepared for the fallout from this, not prepared to explain to Frank why he hadn’t turned him in, but as he pulled off the boot and sock and cleaned the wound, he made himself forget about it. At least for now.

He had not turned on any lights in the apartment, so all Frank had to see by was the city light from the open window. He knew Frank was still conscious because of his labored breathing and the slight movements in his neck. Propped up against the dishwasher, Frank was looking down at him where he sat hunched over the wound.

“Red---” Frank said, almost a question, and Matt was about to answer when Frank’s head fell back against the dishwasher and consciousness slipped away. Matt turned back to his foot, feeling sticky heat on his hands.

He had tracked The Punisher obsessively, following the sharp smell of blood until he was running on instinct, cutting through the Irish like he was untangling a knot. That’s what most of his fights had become; one big puzzle, as though every swing and step were a move on a chessboard. In the last twelve hours Frank had just become one more piece, and Matt’s job was keeping him alive, keeping him from killing.

Suddenly it had turned into keeping him out of prison, though even as he cleaned and stitched up Frank’s mangled foot, the doubt arrived, settling over him, terribly familiar. It was one of the few constants in his life, always leaning over his shoulder, ready to whisper uncertainties in his ear.

Had he done the right thing?

***

Momentary panic greeted Frank as he woke---where was he? Why, who, how---? Then it came back, trickling in frustratingly slowly; the Irish, the power drill, the dog. Daredevil.

He was sitting on what could only be Red’s kitchen floor. His leg was stretched out on top of a pile of old, bloodstained towels. His hands were bound behind his back, and when he pulled he felt the dishwasher behind him give a slight lurch. He ran his fingers over the metal bar under the machine to which he was handcuffed. He looked up at the counter and scanned quickly for weapons, forks, knives, even a spatula, but Red had made sure anything and everything was out of his reach.

He made himself sit still and listen. He couldn’t see over the sink and counter into the rest of the apartment, but he could hear movement coming from nearby. Red. He opened his mouth to shout at him but shut it immediately. Hold it. Assess.

He’d always been good at reading a room, even on severely limited information. It had saved his ass more than once overseas.

Red was pacing, back and forth over the wood floors of what was probably the living room.

Translation: he didn’t know what to do. He regretted bringing Frank here and now wasn’t sure what to do with him.

In his uncertainty he would make a mistake, and when that happened, Frank would be ready.

***

In the living room, Matt walked in helpless little circles around the couch.

He couldn’t turn Frank in, that ship had sailed, and he couldn’t let him go, not after everything he had done. Regret, more accusing than before, welled up inside but, as always, he kept it just out of reach. After a point it became a hindrance. He had made a mistake, and the further down he sunk into remorse, the more difficult it would be to fix it.

Frank was awake. He was listening. Matt stopped in front of the couch and listened to his steady heartbeat.

He should walk over. Frank would need food and water and would probably need his bandages changed. But the thought of standing in front of him in what he knew would be full daylight sent a thrill of nerves through Matt’s stomach, followed instantly by annoyance. Of all the people of New York, why should he care what Frank Castle thought of him?

But he stayed where he was.

He was still in his uniform, and as much as he told himself it wasn’t true, he knew it was because he didn’t want Frank to see his face. Once that happened it would be only moments before he would figure it out. One particularly cruel ex had once described his eyes to him, open and staring and sightless. Creepy, she had called them.

Frank was listening to his every movement. Matt could practically hear his brain whirring into action, trying to find a way out of this. He clenched his jaw and went to change, slipping into one of his work suits and a tie. After a moment’s hesitation, he put on the round glasses. After all, in a way his black suits were even more of a disguise than his red one.

***

The bar behind Frank was thick, part of the underside of the dishwasher, but as he ran his fingers over it he felt cracks and holes in the surface. The thing was nearly rusted through. He tugged slightly and felt a bit of it give way, flakes of rust falling into this bound hands.

He could hear Red’s approach. His own, steady pulse in his ears seemed to count down his footsteps until suddenly he was standing right in front of him. Frank wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t a pressed suit.

His eyes traveled from the scuffed shoes up the black fabric that he knew must hide a menagerie of bruises and scars, and up to Red’s face. He’d never seen his hair before, and was slightly surprised he even had any under that stupid horned mask. It gleamed auburn red in the morning light. It looked soft.

His mouth was bruised and open slightly, a cut pulling at his top lip that Frank knew he’d put there.

He looked away quickly when he realized he was staring.

The brief, dark impressions he’d gotten during their brawls had been miscalculated. He was young, younger than Frank. Though on second glance, probably older than he looked; dark circles and fine lines surrounded a pair of dark red glasses.

For a moment Frank wondered if he was wearing them in one last-ditch attempt to conceal his identity, but then Red reached one hand out towards the counter and there was something about the way he touched it lightly before leaning his weight against it, about the way his head tilted slightly to the side as though he’d rather listen to Frank than look at him. A vague memory from the middle of the night. Red had stitched him up in the dark.

“Guess it makes sense,” Frank said, resisting the urge to cough when he heard the growl of his voice. “You couldn’t hear the other night. That’s why I could sneak up on you.”

Red said nothing, but tapped a finger on the counter and clenched his jaw.

“So what, did you get bit by a radioactive fruit bat?”

“Chemical spill,” he said, voice flat.

Frank nodded. That worked too.

“Why am I here, Red?” He asked, because he was sure that his captor did not know the answer to that question any more than he did.

Sure enough, Red said nothing, but Frank could feel a nervous change in his energy.

“I’ll tell you why I’m here. You finally get it,” Frank said, even as he knew it wasn’t true. Red was too stubborn. “You saved my ass from the Irish, you dragged me here away from the cops ‘cause you know that it’s working, the people I’m putting down are staying down. You know you can’t argue about it anymore.”

Red snarled, nearly baring his teeth.

“You’re starting an all-out war, Frank, and how many more innocent people are gonna get hurt before it ends?”

He knew where this was going; Red was gonna bring out the guilt trip, compare his gunned-down victims to his gunned-down family. Rage boiled up immediately but he kept it in check.

His fists clenched around the bar behind him.

“Then why am I here and not in a fucking prison cell right now?” He asked, his voice going lower as the anger---anger at Red’s suit, at his condescension, at his stupid fucking lips---it prickled at him, wanting out.

“Lemme guess,” he said before Red had a chance to answer. If he could dodge bullets and fight off the mob, he’d be able to hear Frank trying to break the bar he was cuffed to. Keep him engaged, keep him distracted.

He forced a smirk onto his face. Different tactic. Discomfort. Wouldn’t be too hard with a good Catholic boy.

“You want to hurt me, can’t help yourself. Your dirty little secret is you like the pain even more than you like playing the hero. You’re gonna patch me up and set me loose just to hurt me all over again.”

He remembered Red’s psychobabble on that rooftop. Two could play at that. He would root around until he struck a nerve. Like a game of fucking Operation.

“You can’t have me locked up, ‘cause you need me out there, don’t you?”

Red’s nostrils flared and Frank’s smirk turned genuine. More rust fell over his hands.

“You need someone to crash into, someone to lord it all over.” He laughed, suddenly. “Bet you loved having a fucking nemesis, didn’t you? That’s how you thought of me. Bet you even liked tying me up. It’s okay, I liked tying you up too, watching you squirm around useless. You wanted to get even, couldn’t stop thinking about it, right?”

Red’s body stiffened.

“You want to see me all powerless and weak while you stand above me, thinking you won. I remember, felt the same way. Didn’t know how good it would be until it was happening, ‘til I was hauling your ass around, unconscious, chaining you up against that chimney with the fucking gun in your hand. And your face when you woke up, so scared, your mouth hanging open when you realized you were on your fucking knees, ‘cause that’s where you really want to be isn’t it, on your—”

“Shut up!” Red banged his fist against the counter and it was all Frank needed. He pulled up hard, all his strength on the bar and it splintered behind him.

He was on his feet in an instant, and though his foot pulsed in pain and the room swam white, he jumped over his arms so his cuffed fists were out in front of him. Red had only just realized what was happening when Frank rushed at him, shoulder connecting hard with his chest. Red flew backwards and hit the wall but he seemed to just bounce away from it, already swinging a fist at Frank’s head. He ducked and aimed a kick, grabbing onto the counter for support.

The black suit swam before his eyes. This couldn’t last too long. He had to get out before the blood loss and pain dropped him back on the floor.

Red seemed to realize this too. Frank jumped backwards over the counter but, too slow, Red grabbed his bad foot and pulled him back, the pain setting fire to his nerves. Movement was suddenly impossible, and Red’s face swam sickeningly above him. He found himself on his back on the counter, Red standing over him with his arm up against Frank’s throat. They breathed hard for a moment, almost in tandem, as Frank’s senses returned.

Red was pressed between his legs, their bodies lining up perfectly as he leaned Frank backwards over the counter, snarling face only inches away. Even baring his teeth he somehow managed to pout. His lips were as red at his tie.

Frank could feel the entire length of his body against him. He felt his heart skip a beat.

Red flushed brilliantly, the snarl fell away and his eyebrows twitched up in surprise. The weight of his arm lifted ever so slightly.

Without stopping to think, Frank threw his cuffed arms and plowed his fists into Red’s left ear. Red fell back with a yell, hands over his head, and Frank leapt off the counter and onto the floor.

He scanned the room in a second, but even as he made for the outline of a fire escape on the other side of the living room window, the image twisted away. Fog rolled over him, into his ears, into the edges of his vision. He fought it, stumbling forward for a moment, but fell to the floor as the empty whiteness took over.


	2. What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t belong in prison, don’t belong in Hell, where do I belong, Red?”

Matt knew he was shouting, knew he was panicking, but he couldn’t stop. He felt the kitchen wall behind him and he sat crouched against it, knees to his chest as though to protect himself from whatever unknowable things might surround him. He had no idea how long it had been. His remaining senses could not convey time in the same way that his hearing could. For awhile he had fallen asleep, head on his knees after he’d forced himself to breathe and relax, but he’d woken again to panic. To that overwhelming fear of losing himself to complete darkness. 

He was not sure what exactly he was shouting, but he could feel it in his throat, his vocal chords straining as his breaths were released into screams. He was in his apartment, right? Wasn’t he? Frank had done this to him, Frank had come after him---no, he’d rescued Frank, but Frank had gotten loose and attacked. Matt had ended up on top of him, pressed suddenly against his muscular chest, had let his guard down when, for just a moment, it felt as though Frank might clamp his legs around him and pull him closer…had that really happened?

It didn’t matter, Frank was gone now. Matt was alone in an empty universe.

Something touched his shoulder and his body reacted immediately, jabbing his hand outat it, then scrambling away across the floor. Something heavy hit the wall, he felt the vibrations of the impact down his arms and back. 

Foggy?

He could still feel himself shouting in little bursts of panic, but he couldn’t make himself stop. Even for Foggy. He reached out for him.

A big, rough hand touched his. Not Foggy.

He jerked away but Frank grabbed his hand, crushing his fingers together. He suddenly felt Frank’s hot breath on his face, smelling like metal and blood, and Frank’s hands gripped his shoulders. He was saying something, shouting something, Matt could feel it in the puffs of air on his skin. 

Somehow he’d gotten the handcuffs off.

Frank clapped one hand over his mouth, the other finding the back of his neck where he gripped hard. Even as Matt tried to pull away, his hands found Frank’s forearms and clung as though to a lifeline.

_Breathe_ , he told himself, and he thought Frank might be saying the same thing. _Just breathe._ He did so, in and out, through his nose as Frank held his mouth closed. Somehow it helped, being trapped under his big hands. He was no longer floating senseless through space. Time returned as well, as though the pulse he felt in Frank’s palm was a clock.

He felt the uncontrollable shouts fade to barely whimpers. He knew if he could hear them, he would be embarrassed at the sounds coming out of his mouth.

When those too died in his throat, Frank removed his hand. He hesitated for a moment, then took one of Matt’s hands in his. He traced letters on the palm. He did it several times before Matt realized what he was doing.

_Okay?_ He wrote. _Sorry_.

The touch of Frank’s forefinger sent a chill up his spine. It was as though he really was in a different universe, because in Matt’s world, the Punisher did not apologize. Especially to him.

_It’s okay,_ he felt himself say.

_Happened before?_ Frank wrote, his nail sharp on the skin.

_Yes. After we fell through the roof, and after the first time..._

He trailed off. _The first time we fought_ , sounded strangely sentimental, and that fight had been anything but.

_Bullet?_ Frank wrote, and Matt nodded. He wondered if Frank would apologize again. He didn’t.

_How long?_ He wrote, after a moment.

Matt knew what he meant. _How long would this last?_ He shrugged. The first time had been three hours at least, but there was no telling with the second because he’d been unconscious almost the entire time.  

Frank’s hand tightened around his, but instead of writing anything else, he just let them settle against his knee. His pants were stiff and crusted with blood. Matt’s head dropped to Frank’s shoulder and he let it rest there, not caring what Frank might think of him. If he left, if Matt did not have something living to hold on to, he might loose his mind.

One hand was still bunched up in Frank’s sleeve, holding him in place. Matt’s legs were all over the place, one curled up underneath him and the other thrown across Frank’s knee. 

Frank sat stiffly, one hand still holding the back of Matt’s neck. It had loosened its death grip, and now sat still under his hair, just barely brushing the skin. Matt breathed in his scent, mostly blood, mixed with metal and gasoline and gunpowder. He could smell that dog somewhere underneath, and deeper still, smelled something like grass and wood. Pine maybe.

He felt the rise and fall of Frank’s chest and matched his breathing until they were in unison. Something prickled in the back of his mind, at the closeness, at the contact, but he shoved it away.

 

***

 

Red had lost his hearing again, and again it was Frank’s fault. He refused to feel guilty; he’d been defending himself.

And yet, there he sat, sprawled on the floor with Red practically in his lap, clinging to him in a way he hadn’t imagined Daredevil would be capable. 

He hadn’t known what else to do, Red had been screaming and hyperventilating and he couldn’t just leave him there like that on the floor when it was Frank’s fault, when Frank would probably be dead by now if not for him. He’d lost his glasses somewhere in the fight, and his eyes were hazel green and wild, staring sightless and terrified at nothing.

Frank wondered if he should take his hand off Red’s neck, the brush of his hair was beginning to tickle and the feel of it sent inconvenient sparks of electricity through his body. He’d been right. It was soft.

The decision was made for him when Red’s head snapped up off his shoulder and he stared just past Frank, his head tilted slightly. Frank’s hand dropped to the floor and Redunlocked his grip on Frank’s forearm and snapped his fingers by his ears. 

“You back?” Frank said, quietly.

Red took a deep breath and smiled in relief. It transformed him, deep lines around his mouth stretching across his face and just then Frank thanked God that he was blind, because that smile tugged at him and he couldn’t help but crinkle up his eyebrows and stare those lips, quirked up around his perfect mouth.

“Thanks,” Red said, and Frank let go of his other hand, suddenly uncomfortable with their close proximity.  

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said, gruffly, “just trying to fix what I fucked up.”

They got shakily to their feet and stood in silence. Frank watched Red snap his fingers at his ears again, then tilt his head in different directions, listening to the sounds of the city around them. After awhile tension settled in his shoulders, and the question lay between them. Frank voiced it.

“What now, Red?” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms. He knew he should leave. Now, before whatever happened next, but he wanted to know what Red would say.The man had so many high morals, many that could not coexist. He wanted to know which ones he would stick to now.

He signed and imitated Frank’s posture, leaning against the wall opposite the counter.

“I can’t make you stay here, Frank. I shouldn’t have tried. I guess I didn’t think prison was the right place for you. Hell neither.”

“Guess I should move then,” he said, smirking. “Don’t belong in prison, don’t belong in Hell, where _do_ I belong, Red?” He knew what he would have said a week ago up on that roof, what he _did_ say. He wanted to hear it now, wanted to see Red settle back in that holier-than-thou stance.

But Red hesitated.

“You need help,” he said after a moment, “help that you’re not gonna get in a prison. There are treatments for PTSD and depression.”

“Ever the fucking therapist,” Frank said, shaking his head.

They stood stiffly for a moment, wondering what came next, when Red spoke.

“I’m not gonna handcuff you again,” he said, “but I still don’t think you should leave. You’ve lost a lot of blood and your foot will need awhile to heal.”

It did hurt like hell. Frank swallowed and Red tilted his head slightly to listen.

“Fine,” he said.

 


	3. Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Matt woke later, he knew someone was in the room. It wasn’t Frank, who was fast asleep, but someone whip thin and silent. He smelled like sweat and clay and peppermint.

Matt wasn’t used to house guests, least of all a locally famous mass murderer. He won a brief but intense argument about sleeping arrangements (Frank had wanted to sleep on the floor), and by nightfall Matt was sprawled on the couch, listening through the open door to Frank struggling with his bandages. Blood had stiffened into the leg of his pants and made it impossible to drag over his wounded foot. Matt heard a ripping noise.

“Hang on,” he said, sighing heavily. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

He retrieved a pair of scissors from the kitchen and hesitated in the bedroom doorway, unsure if he should hand Frank a weapon or just do it himself.

“What are you waiting for, permission?” Frank said, irritable. “Get these fucking things off me.”

It sounded to Matt like the pants had been entirely removed save for the right leg from knee to foot. He didn’t bother hiding his smirk at the mental image. Frank scowled at him and sat on the bed, leg outstretched. Matt crouched in front of him and felt the fabric between his fingers. He started cutting from the bottom. It was more like sawing than cutting, the scent of blood trapped in the fabric was released as it was torn apart. He could feel Frank’s eyes on him the whole time.

“Do you always wear those glasses?” Frank asked suddenly. His voice was soft, barely a rumble. Matt angled his face up towards him. He’d put the glasses back on sometime that afternoon. He pulled them off, pretty sure he was looking somewhere in the direction of Frank’s face.

“Just with new people. I’ve been told my eyes are unnerving,” he said, unsure why he was telling Frank this.

To his surprise, Frank snorted in laughter.

  
“Yea, of all the weird shit about you, it’s your eyes that’ve got me ‘unnerved’. Why do you give a shit about that?”

Matt snipped the last few inches of fabric and pulled the ruined pants away from Frank’s leg, knowing he was taking hair and bits of skin with it. Frank barely flinched. Matt’s hand grazed past Frank’s skin as he pulled away and he suddenly remembered what Frank had said to him the night before. _On your knees…that’s where you really want to be isn’t it?_ He felt heat creep up his neck and he stood up quickly.

“Why do you care?” He said, knowing he was deflecting.

Frank smirked and turned away. Matt heard him strip off his shirt, quickly followed by his underwear, and sat back down on the bed, the springs creaking slightly. Matt swallowed, trying not to remember the way Frank’s muscles had felt when he was pressed up against them. 

“You waiting for something, Red?” Frank said, and Matt realized he was just standing there, probably staring in the direction of the bed. Without a word, he stalked across the room and into the bathroom, ignoring Frank’s low chuckle. He splashed water on his face and let the sink run for a moment to listen to something other than Frank’s heartbeat.

He wanted to turn off his brain. Or at least turn off the part of it that was whispering danger. Whispering that having this man naked between his sheets was a bad idea. He could not, would not, acknowledge that voice.

He left the bedroom, ignoring Frank, and lay back down on the couch. He knew Frank was still smirking at him, but he wasn’t sure why. Frank slid into bed and lay on his side, facing the open door and Matt. He couldn’t help but listen to Frank’s soft puffs of breath growing slower and deeper. 

When he finally fell asleep, Matt relaxed and closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise of the city. It felt very strange to be sleeping only a room away from the man who’d shot him in the head and tied him to a chimney.

 

When he woke later, he knew someone was in the room. He sat bolt upright. It wasn’t Frank, who was fast asleep, but someone whip thin and silent. He smelled like sweat and clay and peppermint. 

Stick.

“What do you want?” Matt growled. Stick sat crouched in his armchair like an animal ready to pounce.

“Need you to look into something for me,” he said. Typical. No hellos, no apologies. Just more work.

“Why should I?” Matt clenched his jaw, immediately regretting the immaturity of it.

“‘Cause remember that war I told you about?” Stick said, “It’s here.”

Matt didn’t believe him for a second. It never changed with Stick. Nothing was enough, no arrest was big enough, no discovery good enough because no matter what Matt did, who he took down, there was always Stick’s war waiting just around the corner.

He threw a packet of paper at Matt.

“See what you make of this.” Before Matt could so much as open the metal clasp, however, Stick continued. “It’s the Yakuza, they’re involved with Roxxon and are using them to fund the Hand.”

“The Yakuza are gone, I drove them out of Hell’s Kitchen--”

“You didn’t drive nobody nowhere, all you did was force them into hibernation while they let you pick off their rivals. Now they’ve woken up, and they’re hungry. I need you to go to a gala they’re throwing, sneak upstairs and break into the head honcho’s office. I need to check out their books.”

“And you can’t do this why?”

“No one wants an old blind man wandering around a swanky party.”

“But a _young_ blind man is fine---”

“A young blind lawyer, who can clean up real nice when he wants to, yeah.”

Matt picked up the pack of paper and held it in his lap. He knew he shouldn’t do it, knew from experience that getting caught up in one of Stick’s operations usually ended badly for him. But he also knew that, regardless of a some mysterious secret war, the Yakuza were dangerous, and any information he could get to head them off would be helpful.

“Who’s your buddy?” He asked all of a sudden. Frank was still lying in bed, but he’d woken up, was no longer breathing deeply but now had his full attention on their conversation.

“Nobody,” Matt said too quickly, “old friend staying over for a few days.”

Stick was quiet for a moment and Matt wondered if he’d sold it, but no, of course Stick could hear the uptick of his heartbeat. The tell-tale lie.

“I know who he is, Matt,” Stick said, and Matt waited for whatever would happen next. He had no idea how Stick would feel about Frank Castle, would he applaud his methods or want to put him down?

“Bring him,” he said, surprising Matt and, from the increase in his heart rate, Frank.

“What?”  


“Bring the crazy bastard to the party,” Stick said, “no one goes alone to these things, it’d look suspicious. Besides. There might be trouble, and you need eyes.”

“You want me to bring the Punisher to a cocktail party.”

“I want you to bring a trained killer on a possibly dangerous operation, yes.”

“As what, my fucking date?”

Stick shrugged.

“Not my place to label it,” he said, “he’s the one in your bed right now.”

Frank’s pulse jumped and Matt glared at Stick. He had no response to that.

“What do you want me to do?” He said, giving in. “Where do I need to go?”

“Corner of 49th and 10th,” Stick said, tomorrow at 4pm, Elektra will give more information.”

Elektra. Matt hadn’t heard that name in fifteen years. His stomach lurched unpleasantly at the memory. Elektra… They had trained together with Stick, raised to be rivals. At least she took it that way. She had scared him. Not just with her strength and darkness, but with the relentless flirting she subjected him to. He knew it was never serious, knew that the moment he responded with anything other than a stutter and blush she would stop, but at that age he was unable to talk to girls. Or boys when it came down to it. He shook himself mentally. _Don’t go there._

“Fine,” he said.

He heard Stick nod, then leap quietly from the chair and disappear out the fire escape. Frank was still awake, very still in his bed, but Matt laid back on the couch and tried to calm the knot of anxiety that had formed in his stomach.

It was not the thought of taking on the Yakuza that caused it, but rather doing so while dealing with the people he thought he’d left in the past. Elektra, Stick… _he’s the one in your bed right now._

The knot clenched harder and Matt turned over, angry with himself for caring what Stick thought.

Inevitably his thoughts circled back around to Frank. He was still awake and Matt could feel the question creeping back between them. _What now?_ Why was Frank there? Why hadn’t he left him for the police? At the time he hadn’t known but now he did. It was that story Frank had told him, delirious, about his family. When the tears had rolled down his face Matt’s Catholic guilt had shown up like an old friend. Maybe I was wrong, he thought, to judge this man so harshly. And when he’d heard the sirens approaching he hadn’t thought twice, just hauled Frank up from the headstone and dragged him away.

He felt himself go red in the face, as though Frank could feel these thoughts about him.

“Who was that, Red?” Frank’s voice was dragged over gravel, low and sleepy. Something about it made Matt’s breath catch and his fingertips go numb.

“No one,” he said. “Go back to sleep.” He expected an argument, but Frank just grunted and pulled the blanket higher. Matt listened to the little fibers catch on Frank’s bare skin. Unwelcome and unbidden, his mind conjured up the feeling of the rough, scar-laced skin under his own hands. His cock twitched at the thought and he shook his head, hating himself. It had been too long, clearly, if he was so sexually deprived that he was fantasizing about touching the Punisher. His skin had been warm and dry when he’d held onto him that morning… He pushed the thought away and twisted his hands in the blanket so neither would wander below his waistband.


	4. Blood and Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt hitched a sloppy smile onto his face, though his insides were screaming.
> 
> What the fuck just happened?

Frank woke the next day to find himself alone in the apartment. It was strange, lying in the bed he knew was typically occupied by Red, and he got up quickly, feeling like he was somehow intruding. The studio was large and sparsely furnished. He got the feeling that there was not one single reason for this, but rather that it was a byproduct of being Daredevil. 

On the table in the living room was a scattered pile of papers. At first glance they appeared to be blank, but when Frank picked up up he realized it was covered in braille. 

Red was nowhere to be found. Frank could leave. There was nothing stopping him, not really. Sure, his foot hurt and the whole city, the good and the bad, were all hunting him down, but if he really needed to he could sneak back to his hideaway and plan out his next move.

So why didn’t he? 

Every time he looked out the window or hesitated by the door something stopped him. He raided Red’s fridge and ate on the floor in front of the fire escape, feeling like a coward. _Goddam it, Frank, you had one night on a comfortable mattress and you can’t bear to go back?_

He cleaned up his plate and headed for the door, determined to leave before he gave it any more thought. Just as he reached for the door, however, someone banged on it from the other side. Frank stepped back silently.

“Matt?!” A man yelled. “You’re not at work so you’d better be in there, because if I have to find you half dead on some rooftop again—”

Frank slid back down the hall and into the bedroom, closing the door behind him in case the man somehow got inside. He sat on the bed, putting together this new information. Red had friends. Friends that knew who he was.

After a few minutes the man gave up and left. Seconds later, Red appeared on the fire escape, once again wearing a black suit.

Frank wondered suddenly what his day job was. Something boring. Finance probably. He should have taken the time alone to search the apartment.

“Morning,” Red grunted, though it was halfway through the afternoon, and hopped through the window as if this was completely normal. “Sorry about the noise.”

He could only be referring to the man at the door. Whoever he was, Red was avoiding him. 

Frank shrugged in response, not caring much if Red could hear this or not. He realized as Red went to the kitchen and rifled through the fridge that the man at the door had called him ‘Matt’.

He stood in the living room, half considering bolting for the fire escape, half wondering what Red was going to do next.

“I have to go to a thing,” Red said finally.

Frank followed him towards the kitchen and leaned against the counter, taking pressure off his bad foot.

“Specific,” he said. “Thought the crazy old man wanted me to go with you.” If Red was surprised that Frank had been eavesdropping in the middle of the night he didn’t show it.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he said. “You’re too recognizable, and this is too delicate a mission to—”

Frank laughed.

“Did you really just call it a ‘mission’?” He said. 

Red scowled at him.

“Look,” he said, and Frank smiled. “There are bigger things going on in Hell’s Kitchen than your little vendetta. The Yakuza—”

“The Yakuza are involved?” Frank said, and Red nodded. “What do you have to do?”

Red tilted his head suspiciously.

“Why do you want to know?” He said.

“Because I’m coming with you.”

“Not a good idea—”

“You’ve stumbled on something we can both agree on, choirboy; the Yakuza are bad news. Better head ‘em off before they can regain their hold on the Kitchen. Besides, whatever you’re looking for, I’m guessing it’s not in braille.”

It was more than that, he knew, but it would take far more than Red’s narrowed eyes to make him say it. He wanted to see him fight again, now he had this new knowledge of his abilities.

Red slammed the refrigerator door and stood up to face him, arms crossed and the glasses back in place. Frank suddenly got the sense he was being examined, as though Red was running his attention over him like an X-ray.

“Fine,” Red said, finally. “But we have to stop somewhere first.”

 

Red had some kind of industrial strength bruise-covering make up that Frank slathered all over his face and, armed with that and a baseball cap, found himself sitting next to Red in the backseat of a cab. 

“There’s a book in Mr. Hiroshi’s office that details some of the Yakuza activities that are being bankrolled by Roxxon,” Red said in an undertone, though the driver didn’t look like he was paying much attention. “We need to get a keycard to the upper levels, get into the office, find the book, then get out.”

“And this is at a party?”

“Some kind of charity thing, we’re going to pick up the invites now. Just up here is fine,” he said to the driver and they pulled over.

“Wait here,” Red said, to the cabbie and to Frank. Frank wanted to protest, but Red would be meeting someone who was sure to recognize him and he didn’t need another one of Red’s friends linking the two of them together.

Red got out of the car. Frank tried not to watch him walk away, swinging the walking stick out in front of him. The black suit was cut so differently from the red one that it completely concealed what was surely a body made of bruised muscle.

When he looked away, he caught the eye of the cabbie in the rearview mirror. The man looked away quickly. His eyes were wide and a bead of sweat was rolling down his face. _Shit._

Frank reached for his wallet.

“Hey, never mind what he said, you can drop me here too.” He pulled out twice as much as the fare called for and handed it through the window, leaving before the cabbie could say anything.

He pulled the cap down lower on his face and watched Red head down an alleyway. He followed, and as he turned the corner he heard a woman’s high peel of laughter. She was standing behind a dumpster and hugging Red tightly. The hug was only somewhat reciprocated.

“Has it really been so long?!” She said in a charming European accent.

“Seems it has,” Red said, wearily. He flinched away from the woman when he heard the footsteps but relaxed when he realized it was Frank.

“I thought I said—”

“Cabbie was looking at me weird,” Frank said. “I gave him extra cash and sent him on his way.”

The woman let go of Red and smiled at Frank. She was striking.

“Ma’am,” he said, nodding.

“What a gentleman,” she said, and shook his hand. Frank could feel rather than see Red roll his eyes.

“This is Elektra,” he said. “Elektra this is—”

“I know who this is,” she said. “What interesting company you keep, Matty.”

Frank smirked at the nickname.

“So I’m guessing this is your ‘date’?” She said, grinning wickedly.

Red’s jaw clenched.

“Frank’s helping me out later,” he said, skirting the question. “I need a pair of eyes, and your’s are apparently busy.”

She gave a cartoonish frown.

“Federal warrant for my arrest, sorry about that, dear. Though I’m sure Mister Castle will do just fine. It’ll be more believable anyway.”

Elektra winked at Frank and Red’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, though Frank was pretty sure he caught what she was implying.

She handed Red a fancy envelope.

“Here it is. Wasn’t too hard to get you an invite after the whole Fisk thing. You’re allowed a guest, so just give a fake name at the door and everything should be in order. Questions?” She looked back and forth between them and when no one spoke she nodded. “Good. Settled, then. I’ll swing by later and pick up the book.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind,” she said quickly, her eyes on Frank. “I’m curious about where you live, Matty.”

She shook Frank’s hand again and gave Red another hug.

“’Til later then,” she said, then pulled the collar of her coat tighter around her face and left the alleyway. 

After a silent moment, Frank and Red followed her back to the main road, where they hailed another cab. Red’s posture was rigid as they slid into the backseat, his jaw still clenched. Frank badly wanted to call him ‘Matty’, but he thought if he did Red might actually kill him.

“There a story there?” He asked instead.

“Not one I care to tell,” Red said.

 

That evening they sat in the back of yet another cab, in a pair of fancy suits. At least, Frank assumed they were fancy. The fabric felt expensive. It was Red’s, and a little small on him, but he didn’t think it was too noticeable. He’d spent the rest of the day convincing himself that this was the right thing to do. Frank was sure that, given the chance, the Yakuza wouldn’t hesitate to team up with the mafia or the Irish against him and if Red could topple them from the inside there was no reason not to help him.

Yet when they got out of the cab and showed their swanky invitation at the door, Frank’s brain was yelling at him to run. But then Red reached up and held onto his forearm, his touch very light, and suddenly Frank was determined to stay.

 

***

 

They got drinks to avoid looking too out of place, though Matt started to worry when Frank downed his in one go.

He could feel Frank eyeing him.

“No worries, ‘Matty’,” he said. “I could drink this whole room under the table and do a crossword afterwards.”

Matt sipped his drink, choosing to ignore the nickname. He never should have let Frank and Elektra meet.

“Keep a look out for anyone with a gold keycard. That’s what will get us upstairs.”

He heard Frank nod as he set his empty glass down and picked up another. Matt mentally surveyed the room. It was not as large as he would have liked; it would be more difficult to remain anonymous. They stood near the bar, and down an empty hallway behind a chatting couple was an elevator. Stick had given him the layout of the place. There were stairs between the upper levels, but nothing connected to the ground floor but the elevators.

He scooted closer to Frank, trying not to look conspiratorial as he said in an undertone, “there are two security guards speaking into walkies right now. Do they seem suspicious of us? Are they looking this way?”

Frank leaned towards him; he could feel the pressure change, feel the air get closer around him. He could hear Frank wear a relaxed smile and gaze around the room. He rested his arm on the bar and Matt could feel the heat of it near his shoulder. He couldn’t figure out whether he wanted to lean closer to it or edge away. It did not feel natural to stand next to Frank and not take some sort of action.

Frank leaned closer and said in his ear, “no, they’re looking at some girl. There are a lot of them though, and they’re everywhere.”

Matt tried to remember how to keep his posture relaxed, and he smiled as though Frank had just said something funny, though Frank's breath in his ear had sent sparks of electricity down his skin. He ignored this, and listened around them for some sign of a keycard being used. Frank shuffled closer to him. Apparently he was taking Elektra's joke about being Matt's date literally. Heat creeped up Matt's neck and across his face. He tried not to focus on Frank's arm that was now pressing up against him, as though Frank was moments from putting it around Matt's shoulders.

“There,” Matt said, suddenly. “Your three o’clock, a man just took out a card and set it on the table.”

Frank chuckled and looked around.

“It’s gold. He just put it back in his jacket.”

“Good,” Matt said. He set down his glass and stole Frank’s, which held red wine and was mostly full, right out of his hand. Trying to mentally signal Frank to stop watching him, he stood in the middle of the room until the man in question came towards him, then turned and made sure to spill the wine all down his front. After a few well-timed grabs at sympathy, Matt listened to the man head for the men’s room, then returned to where Frank stood at the bar.

“Well played,” he said, as Matt set down the empty glass.

“Thanks. Meet me near the empty hallway behind you in two minutes.”

He felt his way across the room, trying not to rush.

 

***

 

Frank got another drink, using the very end of the bar so as to have an excuse to be closer to the hallway. He sipped it and watched the crowed, wondering if Red would really be back in two minutes. He glanced down at his watch and, sure enough, just as his time was up, Red appeared in the crowd, edging around a couple of spindly tables, feeling out in front of him with the walking stick.

He relied a bit too heavily on the the blind thing to cover for him, Frank realized. If anyone bothered to see past the glasses and cane and actually read his body language they would see the tension there. Frank could almost feel waves of adrenaline coming off him as he stopped at the bar. He positioned himself at the very edge of the room, behind a small group of socialites.

“Tell me when it’s all clear,” he said.

Frank made note of each of the guards, and when he was sure none of them were looking their way, he grabbed Red’s elbow and nudged him towards the hallway. No one saw them as they disappeared around the corner. Red gripped the walking stick like a weapon, dropping the act immediately. He tilted his head towards the elevator doors for a moment, then swiped the keycard across the pad. The doors opened and they hurried inside. 

“Floor eleven,” he said, and Frank pressed the button, looking around at the ceiling.

“Cameras—”

“Elektra took care of them.”

They rode in silence, Frank trying to ignore the pain in his foot. He knew he was walking with a slight limp and hoped there wouldn’t be any running away they’d need to do that evening.

The elevator doors opened and he followed Red down a long hallway lined with opaque glass walls, stopping in front of one. Red waved the keycard again and a door clicked open into a large, overly decorated office. Frank leaned against the desk and watched Red locate the safe in the wall and spin the dial carefully. After a few moments it clicked open. He stepped aside and Frank took this as his cue.

“Nothing in here but cash and papers, Red,” he said, rifling around to get a better look.

“Don’t have much time,” Red muttered. “They’re gonna find him soon.” 

Frank assumed he was referring to whatever he’d done to the man in the bathroom. He opened drawers at random, but found nothing that resembled a ledger. Then, suddenly Red stopped and leaned down towards the floor. He pressed against a spot on the wall and a panel opened, revealing a room half the size of the office and lined with drawers. Frank followed him inside.

“This one’s full of paper,” Red said, pointing at a drawers, and Frank opened it. He grabbed a book at the top, it was thick and made of some kind of parchment paper. He rifled through it quickly. 

“This has got to be it—”

“Good, because they’re coming,” Red said. Frank tucked the book into his jacket and followed Red out of the room, closing both doors behind them.

They headed back towards the elevators, but just as Frank pressed the button Red stopped, head tilted like he’d just heard something.

“They know we’re here,” he said. “They’re gonna see us.”

Just then the lights went blue and a gate closed around the way they’d just come.

“Shit,” Frank said, and followed Red past the elevators. He could hear voices following them, and they ducked into the first room they came to, crouching on the floor behind an enormous conference table. 

When two guards had entered the room, Red nodded to Frank, then hurtled over the table. Frank was not far behind him. They took out the guards quickly; Red’s stick had suddenly become a short, red baton. Frank bent down and grabbed one of the fallen guns so when a third man burst into the room he found himself looking down the barrel. The guard’s gun fell to the ground and he put his hands in the air. Before either of them could move, Red’s baton came flying out of nowhere, knocking the man out cold. Red retrieved it and grabbed the gun from Frank, disarming it and throwing it on the table.

“They’ll hear the gun shot,” he said, and pulled Frank away.

“Fucking boy scout,” Frank muttered, but followed him out of the room. They continued quickly down the hall.

Frank heard nothing, but when they passed a darkened alcove, Red grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. 

“What—?” 

Red threw a hand over his mouth and they stood against the wall in the dark. Red’s hand smelled like blood and alcohol. Frank wasn't sure why, but he suddenly hoped he would clamp it tighter around his face. Instead, Red just kept it there lightly, barely touching anything but Frank's lips. A moment later, two security guards passed and Red let go of him. They waited until they had turned a corner down the hall, then followed after them.

 

***

 

Matt wiped his hand on his pants, worried that he’d unintentionally wiped off some of Frank’s bruise-covering makeup. Not that it mattered now. If they were caught, explaining away Frank’s bruises would be the least of their worries.

The hallway ended abruptly, and when Matt turned around he realized that they’d been following it the entire floor. There were no offshoots, no other ways back to the elevators.

“In here,” he said, pushing open the door to a large conference room.

“Why?” Frank said, but Matt didn’t answer.

He heard a pair of guards on the stairs. They would follow the hallway, checking each room until they reached the last one.

“Shit,” Matt said. “They’re coming and there’s no way back to the elevators from here.”

There was nowhere in the hallway to run to, no other exits from the room. The windows didn’t open and there’d be no way to get down anyway. They shouldn’t have come this way, it was a stupid decision and it was going to get them caught. They could fight their way out, but he didn’t trust Frank not to try to kill one of them. 

Matt was just about to latch onto a half formed plan about climbing up into the ceiling when he felt Frank staring at him.

“Any ideas?” He whispered, wondering if he’d had seen some way out of this that Matt had not. 

“One,” Frank said, but hesitated and Matt could hear his heartbeat pick up.

“What?”

“Don’t freak out,” he murmured and Matt felt a rush of air as Frank closed the space between them. Matt’s body stiffened as Frank grabbed the back of his neck and settled his other hand rather gently over his hip. Matt couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear Frank’s pulse over his own which was suddenly hammering in his ears. All thoughts of the men pursuing them disappeared from his mind as Frank’s breath ghosted over his lips. Frank pressed him back towards the table, one leg slotted between Matt’s.

“What—?!” Matt started, but Frank kissed him. 

Matt responded without thinking, closing his eyes and melting. He felt like his skin was on fire. Frank’s hand tangled in his hair, the other tightening on his hip. Matt’s hands found themselves on Frank’s back, running over the ropes of muscle under the slightly too small shirt. He opened his mouth and Frank leaned further over him, his tongue running over Matt’s teeth.

Frank’s hand slid between them and undid a button on Matt’s jacket. The implications of this went straight to his crotch and he gasped. He pulled his tongue out of Frank’s mouth as his brain caught up with his body. He leaned back slightly.

“Good idea,” he said, breathlessly, and threw off his jacket. Dress pants were not an ideal fabric to hide an erection and he was inconveniently hard. _It’s just a reaction to human contact,_ he told himself. It had been awhile since anyone had tried to take off his clothes _._ He hoped it was too dark for Frank to see.

“Get on the table,” Frank growled and Matt’s knees went a bit weak. He slid backwards to sit on the conference table, his fingers finding Frank’s jacket buttons. Frank was right; if this was going to work it had to be believable, shocking. It couldn’t just be a kiss. His stomach turned over at the thought and guilt reared its ugly head. He tried to push it away, telling himself that this was for show, nothing more, but what really silenced it was the smell of Frank as he stripped off the jacket, bunching it up over the ledger book on the table. He smelled like heat and blood and pine needles, and all thoughts of the wrongness of the situation were banished as Matt felt his cock straining against his dress pants.

Frank’s jacket fell to the floor and Matt grabbed the collar of his shirt. They were running out of time. He pulled and half the buttons popped off. Frank chuckled and pressed himself against Matt, hooking one arm under his leg and using the other hand to rip at Matt’s shirt while Matt undid Frank’s belt. It was a mess of arms and clothing as they tried to tear off as much as they could as quickly as possible.

Frank’s pants were pooled around his ankles and one sleeve of Matt’s jacket had not been fully removed, but the guards were just around the corner.

“They’re coming—” Matt said and Frank grabbed him and kissed him again, hard. Matt threw his legs around him and Frank nearly fell on top of him, landing on one arm and using the other to hold Matt as close to him as possible. They were breathing hard, tongues pressing into each other’s mouths, their hands everywhere. Matt tightened his legs around Frank, and Frank responded by rolling his hips. Matt gasped as he realized that Frank was hard too. He moaned and licked into Frank’s mouth, feeling like his heart might explode and suddenly wishing he could just fall back onto the table and rip off the rest of their clothes. He pulled Frank’s shirt the rest of the way open and ran his hands everywhere he could reach. Frank rolled his hips again and Matt bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, worried he would come right there and ruin everything. 

The guard’s hand was on the door. It had to look real. 

But it felt real. It was real. 

Just before they burst into the room, Matt’s hands slipped below Frank’s waistband and grabbed his ass, using the leverage to grind against him. Frank groaned in his mouth and ran a hand through Matt’s hair.

“Don’t move!” The guard shouted and they jumped away from one another. One guard had a gun pointed at them, and Matt raised his hands above his head and sat up on the edge of the table, hoping he looked as debauched as he felt. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Matt said, turning away and buttoning up his shirt. “I thought we could just sneak away—”

“You have to go,” the guard said, and Matt could hear the note of disgust in his voice.

Frank chuckled and stumbled as he pulled up his pants.

“Sorry about that, s—sir,” he said. “We’ll make a big donation—”

“Just get out,” the guard said again. He grabbed Matt’s elbow and pulled him off the table, steering him towards the door. Frank was behind him, still stumbling through his drunk act, his belt buckle clinking open and his jacket in his arms, bunched up around the book. 

The guard’s walkie buzzed.

“Just a couple of drunks,” he said into it. 

Matt hitched a sloppy smile onto his face, though his insides were screaming. 

_What the fuck just happened?_

He looped his arm through Frank’s as they were led downstairs, past the ballroom, and out the front doors. Matt knew when they were out of sight of the building because Frank dropped his arm and corrected his gait. He handed Matt the book, pulled on his jacket, and they hailed a cab in silence.


	5. Paradoxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not what it looks like,” Red said, despite the fact that it was exactly what it looked like.

When they pulled up to the apartment, Matt hoped that Frank would just leave. Then he realized that if Frank left he would be completely alone with his spiraling thoughts, and he desperately hoped he would stay. Frank followed him into the building and up the stairs without him having to ask. 

He didn’t know what to do with himself once they got inside, so he leaned against the counter, his back to Frank, and tried not to think, just for a moment, tried to turn his brain off completely. 

Instead, his mind flooded with memories he didn’t particularly want to revisit. 

Making awkward eye contact with Scott Corey in the third grade. Father Gibson listing homosexuality in the same breath as rape and murder. Elektra’s little jabs and flirtations. When he went away to college and everyone was suddenly so accepting. His college girlfriend leaving. Claire leaving. Elektra’s comment that afternoon, _it’ll be more believable anyway._ Frank rolling their hips together the same way he would have done if they were tangled up naked together and actually—

He flinched away from the thought and hung his head over the counter.

_Fuck._

 

***

 

Red was freaking out. He hadn’t spoken, had barely breathed since they’d gotten into the cab earlier. His fingernails had dug into his knees the whole ride back and Frank wasn’t sure what to do. 

He hadn’t meant for it to go that far, had only meant for it to be a somewhat scandalous, if mostly staged, kiss. But Red had softened in his arms and suddenly Frank’s tongue had been halfway down his throat and he’d been grinding him into the table.

He hadn’t realized how much he wanted Red until he was kissing him and running his hands through his hair. He’d wanted to throw off those glasses, along with everything else, and unlock Red like that safe he’d so easily cracked.

It didn’t bother him. It was irritating and inconvenient, and he'd have to try to get ahold of himself, but it would not send him into an existential crisis as it was so clearly doing to Red.

He realized, half smug and half worried, that he might have shattered some delicate world view that Red held dear. Perhaps some idea that supposed mortal enemies should not get caught making out in the middle of a heist. Or that he should not like it so much.

Frank’s world had never been so rule-bound.

He picked up the ledger from where Red had thrown it on the coffee table and flipped through it.

“This thing’s got invoices for arms, guns, ammunition…” He flipped through a few more pages. “Designer drugs and…People.”

Red didn’t answer for a moment. Then he turned around slowly.

“You can read Japanese?”

“Enough,” Frank said. “Army training…I’ve always had a thing for languages.”

Red leaned back against the counter and didn’t answer. Silence stretched between them and Frank wondered if he should try to let Red off the hook, or come at this thing head on. Red looked down at the floor like he hoped it would open up and swallow him whole.

Frank put down the ledger.

“Are we gonna talk about it, or are you gonna keep being weird?”

Red looked for a moment like he was going to deny that anything was wrong. Then he shook his head.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he said quietly. 

“Fine, I’ll start,” Frank walked over and planted himself a few feet in front of Red. His foot was aching but he didn’t think this was a sitting down conversation. “I’m sorry I kissed you, it was a bad idea—”

“No it wasn’t,” Red said, still in that horrible quiet voice. “It got us out of there. It worked.”

“Well now you don’t seem to know which way is up, so it clearly didn’t.”

“Why are we talking about this?” Red said, suddenly angry. He pushed past Frank and stormed off in the direction of his bedroom.

“Because I’m not gonna let you get all embarrassed and ignore this like a goddam teenager,” Frank said, following him.

Red spun around to face him.

“Why the fuck are you still here?!” He shouted, and gestured between them. “I don’t know if I have to remind you, but we hate each other, and you’re not tied up anymore, so get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Neither of them moved.

“Fine,” Frank said. “I’ll leave as soon as you admit it.”

Red clenched his jaw.

“Admit what?”

“That you liked what happened earlier.”

“Don’t play games with me, Frank.”

“Not a game. I’m serious.”

Red was vibrating with tension and Frank watched him impassively. It was like pestering a rabid dog. He was hoping to get bit.

“Admit it,” he said. “You fucking loved my tongue in your mouth. You think I didn’t notice that your dick was hard and that you grabbed my ass—”

Red hit him in the jaw and Frank spun away from the force of it.

“Shut up!” Red shouted. 

Frank launched himself at Red and they went crashing to the floor, Frank landing on top.

“Make me,” he said, and Red elbowed him in the face. Frank felt his lip split open. 

Then, with an exhale that was almost a moan, Red grabbed his chin like a vice and forced their mouths together, kissing him desperately. Frank tasted coppery blood fill both their mouths and grabbed a handful of Red’s hair. He pulled off his glasses and threw them across the room. Red’s hips twitched under him and he moaned into his mouth, pulling at the collar of Frank’s suit jacket. Frank stuck a hand between them and tried to unbutton Red’s pants, unwilling to let go of his mouth in case whatever was happening ended. Just as he got the pants undone and was running a hand up his chest, however, Red gasped and pushed Frank off of him. 

Before he could figure out what had happened, Red jumped up and faced the fire escape, buttoning his pants quickly. Frank, sprawled on his ass on the floor, looked up to see Elektra standing in the window, looking mildly surprised. She jumped down into the room and the surprise slid into a smug smile.

“Lover’s quarrel?” She said, eyeing Red’s face. He touched his chin, fingers coming away red, and Frank realized that both of their mouths were covered in blood. He got to his feet. His cut lip suddenly hurt.

“Here,” Red said, grabbing the ledger with his clean hand and handing it to Elektra. She flipped through it quickly.

“Sorry about that, Ma’am,” Frank said, and Elektra giggled.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she said. “Can’t say it wasn’t enjoyable to watch. Or entirely unexpected.” She grinned at Frank.

Red turned away.

“How was that for an admission?” He said bitingly, and headed into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Elektra looked around, wide-eyed to Frank.

“What’s his problem?”

“I was hoping you'd tell me,” Frank said. He sat down for a moment and touched his foot gingerly. Elektra stared after Red.

“Help yourself to coffee or something,” Frank said, feeling the need to be polite. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” He got up and buttoned what few buttons the jacket had left. He wasn’t sure what Red had done with his blood covered clothes from the warehouse, so he was going to have to leave in the suit.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m taking off. He doesn’t want me here.” 

Elektra’s eyebrows shot up.

“It looked to me like he wanted you just about everywhere.”

“We had a deal.”

“Oh? And what part of that deal was the blood covered make-out session I just witnessed?”

She sat down and Frank found himself following her.

“Don’t leave,” she said quietly, though they both knew that Red could easily hear them.

“Why? He yelled at me to get out.”

“I may not have seen him in a long time, but I grew up with Matt and I know him well. He’s a jumble of paradoxes. He wants privacy but he hates being alone. He wants to put criminals away but he refuses to kill.”

“Thought you hadn’t seen him in awhile.”

She smiled.

“We have a mutual friend who keeps me up to date.”

Frank sat silently for a moment, examining her clever, pretty face.

“What should I do?” 

She shrugged. “Don’t listen to him. If you want to stay, stay.”

She got up, ledger in hand.

“It was very nice to meet you, Mister Castle.” Then she was gone.

Frank leaned his elbows on his knees and gazed out the window at the city lights. Did he want to stay? It was unusual for him to examine his own wants and emotions and it took him a moment to realize that he did. He’d spent so long on one track with one purpose, just to have Red suddenly force him out of it, absorbing him into his own life. He knew it might be crazy but he didn’t want to go back. Not yet.

 

***

 

Matt fell asleep wishing he was drunk, and woke up feeling the same way. That way he might be able to do something about the sleeping mass on his sofa that was The Punisher. As it was, he was stone cold sober, and was forced to listen to Frank’s heartbeat and soft, sleeping breaths.

There were times when he was fighting that he would lose control and whatever dark forces lurked nearby would jump in and take him for a drive. He felt the same way with Frank Castle. Whenever the man spoke or moved or just _was_ near him, he felt the darkness just around the corner, and when he touched him it enveloped him completely, relegating his true self, or at least the self he wanted to be, to a small and helpless part of his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was the Devil’s hand moving his limbs and mouth when Frank kissed him. 

But Matt _was_ the Devil; Frank had said so himself.

He listened to Frank wake up and make himself coffee—as though he fucking lived there—then got up as well and left the room cautiously. Frank poured him a cup of coffee without saying anything. They drank in silence.

“It’s not right,” Matt said, starting the conversation like the last seven hours had not happened.

Frank shook his head.

“Fucking Catholics…You gonna start quoting the bible at me, alter boy?”

“It’s a belief system that I have to uphold—”

“According to who, God?”

“Yes.”

Frank laughed at him.

“Jesus Christ. The worse part is, you don’t really believe that. You think you have the right to judge everyone, but you can’t even see yourself clearly.”

Frank’s words washed over him. He felt like he might drown.

“Bullshit it isn’t right,” Frank said. “I don’t give a shit about right and wrong, but you clearly do. Killing people is wrong, fine, but you and me—?”

“There is no you and me.”

“Fine, you and fucking Captain America. If it feels right it is right.”

Red huffed out a breath.

“What about you?” He said. “You’re okay with this?”

“No reason not to be.”

“So you’ve done this before?”

“Been with guys before? Yea.”

The idea of Frank with someone else was like a punch to the gut.

“And your wife? How did she feel about that?”

Frank’s jaw clenched and he gripped the coffee mug so hard Matt could hear the ceramic crack.

“I don’t have to stand here and listen to this shit,” he said. “What my wife and I had was goddam perfect, even when it wasn’t, and I’m not gonna let you question that.”

He slammed the mug down on the counter. Coffee spilled everywhere.

“You’re a lost cause, Red,” Frank said, heading for the door. “I knew that before we even met.”

He was rounding the corner to the hallway when Matt spoke. He had meant to let Frank disappear and be glad that he was gone, but his voice betrayed him.

“Wait,” he said, and Frank stopped in his tracks.

Matt didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t be alone, but he couldn’t continue the conversation. He shook his head. He couldn’t do this anymore.

“Don’t go,” he said without meaning to. Frank ground his teeth together but stalked back into the room. He folded his arms and leaned against the counter.

“Why should I stay?”

“I don’t know what you look like,” Matt said. He’d been thinking about it all night.

Frank considered this for a moment.

“Then come over here and find out,” he said.

Matt hesitated, feeling the darkness pull him toward Frank and wanting so badly to lean in and let it take him away. He wondered how long he’d be able to fight it. If it was even worth it to try. 

Frank didn’t move when Matt approached. He kept a foot of space between them, reaching up to Frank’s face and only making contact with his fingertips.

 

***

 

Red touched him like he was reading braille, brushing over his skin like the curves and edges told a story. Frank wondered how he put the information together in his head, if he filled in the image like a forensic sketch artist or if it was more intuitive than that. He watched Red’s face, his glassy eyes aimed just over Frank’s shoulder. 

Frank knew that Red could hear his heartbeat picking up but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Red kept his mouth open slightly and Frank stared at the dried blood on his lips. 

“What’s your consensus, Red?”

“You’re human,” he said. “I wasn’t sure.”

He pressed a bit harder across the ridge of Frank’s brow.

“You hold tension right here between your eyes. Feels like a bullseye.” He made a gun with his hand and pressed the barrel into Frank’s forehead.

“Bang,” Red whispered.

He ran his forefinger down Frank’s nose and then paused at his lips. Frank couldn’t help but open his mouth a bit, wanting to bite. Red came closer, only a few inches of space left between them. His hands left Frank’s face and ran across his neck and hair, then moved lower down his shoulders and chest. Frank uncrossed his arms, one hand wandering to Red’s hip.

“Don’t touch me.”

Frank curled his hands into fists and folded his arms on the counter behind his back. _Yes, Sir,_ he wanted to say.

Red inched closer so their bodies were just barely touching, and pressed his lips lightly to the bruised tendons of Frank’s neck. Frank hissed out a breath and felt Red smile against his skin. He moved lower and kissed a path down Frank’s chest. The open dress shirt left his skin exposed and Red ran his hands over it, tracing muscles so lightly that it made Frank shiver. Then his fingers wandered lower and ran along the skin just above Frank’s belt.

“Fuck, Red,” he groaned.

“Shut up.”

Frank bit his lip. He’d been half hard as soon as Red had kissed him, and the sound of Red’s knees hitting the floor with a thud nearly drove him over the edge. He gave up the light, teasing touches and undid Frank’s belt quickly, his face suddenly serious, almost determined.

The pants slid to the floor, same as they had in the conference room, and Frank was embarrassingly hard in his boxers. Red pulled those down too and felt along Frank’s thighs and hips like he was drawing a map, hands finally landing on his cock. He traced an outline of it, rubbing his thumb down the underside. Frank had to stop himself from thrusting into his hands.

Red closed his eyes and ran his tongue along the full length of Frank’s cock like he was licking a fucking popsicle. Frank bit his lip harder, reopening the wound from last night and tasting blood. Red slid it into his mouth. 

He couldn’t take much, and he gripped his hand around what wouldn’t fit, but he kept his tongue pressed up against the underside and started sucking and bobbing his head slowly, teeth grazing a little too sharply over the top. His free hand slid up the back of Frank’s thigh and Frank had to stop himself from thrusting deeper into his mouth.

After a moment he opened his eyes and slid Frank’s cock out of his mouth, breathing hard.

“Grab my hair,” he said. 

Frank unclenched his fists from behind his back and as Red took his cock in his mouth again, he ran a hand through his hair, grabbing a fistful at the back. He thrusted into Red’s mouth and Red sunk his nails into Frank’s lower back. Frank looked up at the ceiling. He couldn’t handle seeing Red like this, not if he was going to last any longer.

But he couldn’t help it; he looked back down and saw Red with his eyes closed again, lips wide and bloody and sliding around his cock. He fisted his other hand into Red’s hair and drove into him. 

Dimly, in the back of his mind he heard something crash to the ground.

Red clawed at his skin and hummed around his cock, and Frank quickly lost control. His vision went white as electricity sparked through his body and he spilled into Red’s mouth.

Red choked a bit and swallowed, dropping Frank’s cock and opening his eyes. Frank fell back against the counter and looked at Red beneath him, sitting back on his heels and wiping his mouth.

“What the fuck, Matt?!”

Frank’s first instinct was to reach for a gun, but with nothing present he grabbed the ceramic coffee mug on the counter behind him.

A shaggy-haired man was in the entryway, wearing a cheap suit and standing amid a pool of spilled coffee.

Frank pulled up his pants quickly and Red nearly fell over on his heels.

“Foggy?!”

The man looked horrified.

“What the fuck,” he repeated, weakly. Red jumped up, breathing heavily, unsure what to do. He was a mess. His hair was tangled all over the place, and he wiped his mouth again, come mixing with the dried blood on his lips.

The man leaned an arm against the wall like he might pass out.

“Jesus Christ, Red,” Frank said. “How many more people are gonna walk in on us before you learn to lock some fucking doors?”

Foggy stared at him.

“This is why you I haven’t seen you in three days? You’re fucking the Punisher?!”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Red said, despite the fact that it was exactly what it looked like.

“Please, Matt, explain how I’ve lost my mind and I did _not_ just see you blowing Frank Castle.”

Frank let go of the coffee mug and went to the kitchen, filling a glass with water and shoving it into Red’s hand.  
“Drink this,” he said. Red took it and drank, and Frank headed for the bedroom. He didn’t need to be a part of this conversation.

“Hey!” Foggy shouted at him. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pointed at the sofa. “Sit. Both of you.”

Frank stared at him, and was so surprised that Foggy stared back, murder in his eyes, that he came back and sat down on the sofa next to Red. Foggy kicked a spilled coffee cup out of his way and sat down across from them.

“Explain. Now.”

 


	6. Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It happened, Frank said to himself, and now it’s over, so get over it and get back to work.

Foggy was breathing hard through his nose and Matt was suddenly terrified. Through all of this, he had never spared a thought for Foggy, for what Foggy might think of him. He'd been too caught up in what he thought of himself.

Matt said, “It’s nothing,” at the same time that Frank said, “It’s none of your goddam business.”

“Fuck, Matt!” Foggy said, “This is the guy who shot you in the head! Which, by the way—” he pointed at Frank— “fuck you for doing that.”

Frank shrugged and Foggy huffed.

Frank and Matt sat on opposite ends of the couch, arms crossed in silence.

“This isn’t much of an explanation,” said Foggy.

“Fine,” Frank said, and the couch shifted as he leaned forward. “Do you want to hear how great he is at sucking dick, or—?”

“Ah!” Foggy grimaced and threw his hands up. “I get it. Shut up. Point taken.”

Matt clenched his fists and felt like his heart might implode. If he wished for it hard enough, maybe he could rewind time a few days and prevent any of this from happening. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the knots and tangles that Frank had put there.  _What the fuck am I doing?_ Frank had killed people, had almost killed Matt. He took a gulp of water, trying to remove the taste of Frank’s come from his mouth and felt himself slide into a mixture of fevered energy and self hatred.

Frank opened his mouth, but Matt cut him off.

“I’m sorry, Foggy,” he said. “I should have called, I should have come into the office—”

“Damn right, you should have,” Foggy said, standing up. Matt clenched his fists tighter. He could practically feel waves of disappointment and disgust rolling in his direction. 

“And what you shouldn’t have done,” he said, pointing at Frank, “is _him._ You’re a lawyer and he’s a murdering psychopath! What the hell are you thinking, Matt?!”

“Hey!” Frank jumped to his feet, and Matt had a sudden, terrifying image of Foggy on the ground with one of Frank’s bullets in his head, before he jumped up as well, his arms thrown between them.

“He needs to leave,” Foggy said, nearly shouting. “You could be disbarred, you could be arrested for having him here, Matt, he has to leave or I’m calling the police—”

“Do it,” Frank said. “See what happens.”

“He’s right, Frank,” Matt said and Frank stilled. Matt dropped his arm from Frank’s chest and Frank took a step back. Foggy was right. Matt was pretty sure he had gone temporarily insane; it was the only explanation for what had just happened. “I’m sorry all for all of this. It was a mistake, and I think you should leave.”

Frank's heartbeat picked up. Matt could hear his lungs deflate slowly and his eyelids slide closed as he blinked several times.

He suddenly wished more than anything that he could see Frank’s face, though he knew the expression on it would be inscrutable. He could feel Frank’s eyes on him and wished he had his glasses to hide behind.

“I stand by what I said; I don’t think prison is the place for you but… I don’t think that place is here either.”

Frank was silent for a moment, then nodded.

“You’re right, Red,” he growled. “This has gone on long enough.”

Matt felt something tighten in his chest, like a clock winding up, as Frank walked away. He expected the door to slam, but Frank set it softly on its hinges and shuffled down the hallway, hands in his pockets. Elektra had been right. He was a gentleman.

 

***

 

Frank spent half of the walk home keeping himself from running back and punching Red’s friend in the face. By the time the fantasy had run its course he realized that it was the middle of the morning and people were staring at him on the sidewalk. His face was bruised, his shirt was open and buttonless, and his split lip was bleeding freely.

He ducked into a pawn shop and traded Red’s suit jacket for a colorless coat and a baseball cap, which he kept pulled low over his face.

When he got home he stripped off the rest of Red’s clothes and threw them in a pile in the corner. He sat naked at his desk and tried to read the police report on what had happened at the Irish warehouse, but the words swam before him and he realized his hands were shaking. He had wasted two and a half days because, what, he’d been curious? 

He had slipped. He had lost control. He allowed himself a full sixty seconds of self deprecation before he shook it off and returned to the police report. 

_It happened,_ he said to himself, _and now it’s over, so get over it._ It was true. Red was incapable of sacrificing his high morals for anything, especially not for some kind of sexual relationship with a wanted vigilante. Is that what he had been expecting? He pushed the thoughts away. Now was not the time to examine his feelings; now was the time to get back to work.

He spent the rest of the day returning to his careful routine. In the shower he scrubbed every bit of Red off him and redressed his wounded foot with his own bandages. He tried reading through more police reports, but felt the discarded clothes sitting in the corner like Red was in the room with him. Before he could talk himself out of it, he bunched them up and threw them out the window and into the alleyway below.

He went to bed at his usual time. Though he would have rather drank himself into a stupor or done pushups until he collapsed, those were coping mechanisms, and to use them would mean admitting there was something to cope with. Instead he lay still in bed, refusing to think about it. He replayed the events of the warehouse in his head, stopping just before Red had showed up.

Halfway through his sleepless night, his phone buzzed. He was so on edge that he nearly threw it across the room, but he glanced at the screen in time to see that it was only a text. He gritted his teeth and opened it. Frank did not have friends, certainly not ones who would contact him just to chat, so he had become accustomed to the phone’s buzz bringing either good or bad news pertaining to his work…

He frowned at the text, reading through it twice to make sure it was meant for him.

_I like you, and he likes you even if he doesn’t know it yet. If you ever need a hand, give me a shout. I’ll assume the offer goes both ways ;)_

Frank felt an insane urge to laugh, sure for just a moment that he was sixteen again and passing gossip-filled notes in class. _He likes you_ …

_How did you get this number?_

It took her only a moment to reply. _A magician never reveals her secrets._

He rolled his eyes and, for the first time that night, felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. Without realizing it, he fell into an uneasy sleep. He dreamt that he was kissing Red, and he realized only after he tried to run his hands through his hair that Red was holding a gun to the side of his own head. Red pulled away, his glasses gone and his eyes wild, and whispered, " _bang._ " 

 

_***_

  

Matt read the same message from his braille reader three times without retaining any of it. He had barely slept the night before. He wanted to go out in the suit, but Foggy made him promise to stay in, and now he was sure that any moment he might burst into flames.

“You want to talk about it?” Foggy said.

Karen had gone to pick up lunch, and Matt and Foggy sat in silence in the office. Matt ignored the question. Foggy had thankfully let the subject drop after Frank had left Matt’s apartment the day before, though Foggy’s heart rate had not dropped to normal for hours after they had started doing office work at Matt’s coffee table.

“Come on, Matt, you’ve been, like, sulking all day—”

“I’m not sulking—”

“Whatever, you’ve been quiet, then,” Foggy said. “It’s bugging you, and you’re not getting work done, so we should talk about it.”

“I’m not gonna talk about this with you,” Matt said, trying to concentrate on the messages.

Foggy’s silence turned cold.

“Fine,” he said. “I guess this was just another secret I stumbled upon by accident. How many more are there, Matt?”

Matt paused the reader.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Daredevil. That was a mistake. But everything with Frank…it just sort of happened. It didn’t mean anything and it’s not going to happen again, so there’s no reason to talk about it.”

He felt Foggy’s eyes on him.

“You know I don’t care that he’s a guy, right?” Foggy said, softly. Matt felt his face go red. “I couldn’t care less, you know that. But… did you have to pick _that_ guy?”

“I didn’t pick him, we’re not… anything,” Matt said. “We were working together on something, something important. We were gonna get caught, and to throw them off our scent, Frank—he kissed me.”

Matt heard Foggy’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Then it turned into a weird dare, I guess. Then it just got out of control.”

He took the glasses off. Between the two of them it meant honesty. It meant he was not trying to hide.

“There,” he said. “That’s what happened. Happy?”

“Not particularly,” Foggy said, but he grinned. After a moment he scooted his seat closer to Matt. "Are you alright?" He said.

Matt thought about waving it off, but hesitated.

"I'm not sure," he said, quietly. "I feel like I've fallen off the roof of a building—or maybe he pushed me, I don't know—and now I'm just in a free fall and I can't remember which way is up."

Foggy shook his head. "That does not sound like you're alright."

"No, not really," Matt said, chuckling. 

When he returned to the reader there was a new message.

_Need to talk. Meet today, same place, same time. E._

He hesitated for a moment, then deleted the message from his inbox.

 

“Hey, listen,” Foggy said, before they said their goodbyes that evening. They were outside Matt’s apartment building, standing up on the steps and out of the way of the sidewalk traffic.

Matt knew from Foggy’s tone that they were going to continue the Frank talk from earlier.

“I’m not gonna see him again, Foggy,” Matt said before he could start. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Foggy was quiet for a moment and Matt could almost hear him thinking.

“I don’t know what you’re going to do with this information, so I don’t know if I should even bring it up,” he said. “But there’s been nothing in the paper that even looks like Castle’s work for three days.”

Matt hated the way his stomach clenched at the sound of Frank's name.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, it looks like he took a break from murder and mayhem to fuck around with you for a few days. You said once that you might be able to help him, and I’m not saying you should try but… I guess I’m saying that I might have been a little too quick to throw him out, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure what to say to that,” Matt said, after a moment.

“It’s not like I’m giving you my blessing or anything,” Foggy said. “I still think you should stay as far away from him as possible. But I know you, and I know you throw yourself at lost causes and I'm just hoping that won't be the case this time.” 

"That what, I won't throw myself at him, or that he won't be a lost cause?"

"Both?" Foggy said, grinning.

 

A small, embarrassing part of Matt was hoping to hear a heartbeat coming from behind his front door, was hoping to find Frank sitting awkwardly on his couch when he returned to the apartment. He did hear a heartbeat, but it did not belong to Frank.

“Matthew,” Elektra said playfully when he walked through the door. “You’ve been ignoring my messages.”


	7. Sai and Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red was in trouble. Frank could sense it even before he heard the footfalls and clashes of the fight.

 

It wasn’t until halfway through the day, as he stalked around Manhattan wearing the pawn shop baseball cap, that Frank remembered. Wilson Fisk.

What had Elektra said? _“Wasn’t too hard to get you an invite after the whole Fisk thing.”_

Before he could stop himself, before he even realized what he was doing, he was home and sitting down at his computer. 

It was right there in his database: _Prosecution, Franklin Nelson and Matthew Murdock._

Matt. Red’s real name was Matt Murdock.

Frank shook his head like he was disrupting a fly, and closed out of the file. He got up and paced around his small room, pissed at himself for coming all the way home for this. He wanted to delete the whole file from his database lest he fall down a rabbit hole. This was not what he should be doing right now. He had a goal, he had a purpose. 

And yet.

He shook his head again, harder. That’s what it always came down to with Red. Daredevil. Murdock. Whoever the hell he was. There was what Frank knew he _should_ do, and there was what he actually did. He’d been distracted all day, unable to inspire the same drive that he’d been high on for weeks before Red had dragged him out of that warehouse. It was as though he’d been sleepwalking, and sleep-stalking and -killing too, until he’d been up against a tombstone, bleeding out and babbling with the devil standing over him. As though he’d woken up for the first time since the hospital, _really_ woken up, on Red’s kitchen floor the next morning.

No. That’s not right. He had work to do, he had to keep going. It was not just going to end with him getting distracted. He couldn’t trust Murdock. If he did, he’d end up dead or in prison. Neither one sounded too bad, if he was being honest, but not yet, not before they all paid for what they’d done to his family.

He powered down the computer and grabbed his jacket.

 

Frank spent the rest of the day tailing a low-life with tenuous connections to the mob, though he’d known from the moment he saw the kid that it was pointless. If he was going to lead Frank to anything worth seeing he’d be tense with nerves, he was too green not to be. Instead he looked bored, and Frank found the tail becoming more of an exercise than anything productive. The kid disappeared into his apartment building and Frank found himself alone on the sidewalk. His tail was going nowhere. He’d hit a dead end with the Irish. He’d wasted three days with Red…

He came to a halt in front of a telephone booth.

_Matt Murdock._

The name had been playing on a loop in his head all day. It was around every corner, at the end of every sentence. 

“Goddam it, Murdock,” he muttered, and stepped inside the phone booth. The yellow pages were stuck together with New York City damp, but the page he wanted was just legible. 

 

 

_So what, you’re stalking me now, Frank?_

It was like Red was standing there in the alleyway with him. He turned around and looked, just to make sure, but he was alone. He glanced back at the office building doors across the street in time to see Red’s friend, the ‘Nelson’ in the equation, he assumed, march down the steps, hands in his pockets. He kept his eyes on the pavement and grimaced in what Frank recognized as frustration. He expected to see Murdock trailing behind him, but Nelson left alone.

Ten minutes later a light went out on in a third floor window. A woman appeared at the front door, high-heeled and platinum blond, frazzled despite her easy grace. She disappeared as well.

Frank knew he should go back to his database, should dive headfirst back into the mess he had begun. But suddenly he felt directionless. Somewhere along the way he’d severed a line, only afterwards realizing that it had been holding him up, pulling him along. His feet carried him to Red’s with something like defeat.

 

 

***

 

Matt had never been good at saying ‘no’ to Elektra. She had spent the morning pouring over the Yakuza ledger, reading bits of it aloud for them to dissect. He had barely realized that he was skipping work, feeling only a twinge of guilt when he let Foggy’s calls go to voicemail. He needed to stop thinking about Frank and this was how to do it. Work. Real work that he could throw himself headfirst into, caught up in every moment. 

Elektra had kept the subject of Frank out of their conversation, though Matt could practically hear the questions forming in her head. He appreciated her silence. It seemed the more he thought about Frank, the more it felt like Frank was around every corner, just out of reach. When he left the apartment with Elektra that night he could have sworn he caught Frank’s scent on the air.

“You know I have actual work to do, right?” He’d said as they’d climbed onto the roof, preferring to keep their travels out of sight.

“You have to wear your fancy suits and play _Law & Order_? Be serious, Matthew.”

Matt grinned despite the insult.

There was something addicting about Elektra. He remembered it from his childhood, sweet and wrong, like candy that might make him choke. Even when she pushed his buttons, even when he hated her, when it came down to it he would follow her just about anywhere she wanted to go. Which was how, an hour later, he found himself standing on the edge of a pit in the middle of a warehouse.

“It must be forty stories…” he said, after the flashlight hit the bottom with a dull thud.

He heard Elektra gasp at the same moment that a throwing star sliced through the air, millimeters from his shoulder.

 

***

 

Red was in trouble. Frank could sense it even before he heard the footfalls and clashes of the fight. He’d kept his distance after they’d left the apartment because he knew Red would be able to smell him, hear him, feel him from a mile away. He’d edged closer to the warehouse as each minute passed that he did not see them emerge, until he could practically smell the blood leaking from inside. They had walked into a trap.

Frank had his gun out before he could consider the repercussions of what he was about to do. But it didn’t feel wrong when he was inside with them and pulling the trigger; just the opposite. 

He spotted Red flipping in the air to dodge a blade. Frank had almost forgotten how fast he could be. He fought his way toward the pair of them, toward the edge of some massive hole in the ground. The gun firing at close range tore through the high ceiling and comparatively muted sounds of the fight. 

Elektra wore a mask over her mouth, but Frank knew she was grinning as she sliced through a man with a pair of sai, and he knew it was because of him. 

At last, all of them— the ninjas, as Frank hesitated to name them—were either bleeding on the ground, or fading into the shadows. Except one. He was so silent not even Red, panting and gripping his baton like he might break it, heard him until his sword was cutting through the air behind him. Elektra screamed Red’s name as the blade sank into his skin, but Frank was faster. With a bullet between his eyes, the man fell backwards into the pit.

Before the echo of the gun shot had even faded, Red rounded on him.

“Why the fuck are you here, Frank?!” He shouted. His head was twitching side to side, trying to hear any sign that there were more of them. Frank felt his stomach drop when Red reached up and snapped his fingers by each ear.

“She asked me to come,” Frank said. Elektra glanced at him and something sly crossed her face before Red turned to her.

“Him? Of all the people you know, all the people in New York—”

Her eyes went wide when she looked at Red.

“You’re bleeding, Matthew,” she said. She grabbed his arm but he flinched away. There was a rapidly expanding pool of blood at his feet and now that Frank was looking at him, really looking, he could see his muscles twitching, his hands shaking. Adrenaline was pushing his heart rate up and coursing more blood through his veins and out of the sword wound in his side.

“Red,” Frank said, his voice sounding harsh in his ears. “You need to calm down, take deep breaths—”

“It’s shallow,” Red said, pressing a hand to his side. Blood oozed between his fingers. “Don’t tell me how to do this, Frank.” There was something odd about his voice, something distant and off-kilter. 

“They could still be here,” Elektra said, peering into the darkness around them. “I need to see if I can follow them.”

“Come on,” Frank said, grabbing Red’s arm before Red could declare that he was going with her. “You’ll need stitching up.”

To his surprise, Red didn’t pull away.

“I can do it myself,” he said quietly, almost as an afterthought. Frank ignored him, steering him out of the warehouse and into the night.

 

If Red was surprised that Frank brought him to the safe house, he didn’t show it. He could see him breathing deeply where he sat in the hard chair that Frank kept at the desk. He was breathing in his surroundings, categorizing them as Frank sewed up the wound on his side. Red had been right, it was relatively shallow, but the force of Frank’s bullet had caused the sword to drag further across the skin, almost to the small of his back.

“I can do this myself,” Red said again.

“Well, too bad, cuz I’m already doing it.”

Frank sewed in silence for a moment, trying to decide where to end the stitches, where the wound was shallow enough to leave to its own devices.

“I couldn’t hear them.” Red’s voice was quiet.

“What d’ya mean?”

“They were masking their heartbeats, all I could hear were their blades slicing through the air. For awhile I though my hearing might be going again, but I could hear everything else.”

Frank tied off the stitch and wiped the blood from Red’ skin.

“And then after your fucking bullets I _really_ couldn’t hear them, couldn’t even hear myself.”

“One of my fucking bullets kept you from getting sliced in half,” Frank said, spreading disinfectant over the wound and reaching for a bandage.

Red pushed him away.

“I can do that,” he said, grabbing it and applying to his side, slightly lopsided. Frank let him. He knew Red needed a sense of control over the situation.

“You wouldn’t have needed to shoot anyone if you’d have left us alone. I could hear their swords. Without your gunshots on the air, I could have heard the man behind me.”

Frank stood up and crossed his arms, staring down at Red in the chair.

“So I suppose I should apologize for saving your ass?”

“I don’t want anything from you, Frank. I don’t know what Elektra told you, but we didn’t need your help.”

“If I hadn’t shown up, you two would be dead right now. I know you’re blind, _Matthew,_ but that much was plain to see.”

“So instead a dozen other men are dead in my place?” Red wanted to stand up and face him, Frank could see it, but the wound kept him in the chair, fists balling up on his knees.

“Better them than you. Or would you rather me have left you to be killed by a bunch of fucking ninjas? Is that your ideal way to go out?”

“I’m not better than them, Frank, my life is not worth _more_ than the people you gunned down—”

“That’s bullshit, Murdock. You’re worth more than anyone in this goddam city, and I’ll pick ‘em off one by one if they’re a danger to you.” It was out of Frank’s mouth before he realized that it was true. He would kill anyone who looked sideways at Matt Murdock.

“And what if it’s you, huh?” Red said, after a moment. “What if the only real danger to me in the whole city is you?”

Red’s mask was off and his eyes stared blankly up at Frank’s chest. He felt like they were boring into him, tearing through flesh to nick at soft, vital organs.

“Say the word, Red, and it’s over,” he said, hating the way his voice sounded. “Say the word and I’m gone.”

Matt went entirely still, fists unclenching.

“This is your apartment,” he said.

“Yeah? Well, there’s the door,” Frank said, pointing.

“Fine.” 

His voice was cold. He stood up suddenly, too fast, and blinked quickly, eyes going wide. He gasped and reached out for something, but his hand grasped around empty air and he crumpled.

Frank leapt forward and caught him before he hit the floor.

“You alright?”

“Mm fine—” he said, already trying to extricate himself from Frank’s arms, and stumbling again.

“You’ve lost blood, you’re exhausted—”

“I’m leaving, let go—”

“You can sleep it off here tonight. You can’t make it home like this, Matt.”

The sound of his name made him go still. Frank let go of him carefully, and he slid on to the floor.

He put his arms over his head like he was hiding from something.

“Why couldn’t I hear them?” Frank heard him mutter into his knees.

“Come on,” Frank said, pulling Red slowly to his feet. “I’ve got some clothes you can sleep in.”


	8. Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe I should tie you up like this," Frank whispered behind him, "on your hands and knees in my bed—”

Matt woke before sunrise. He knew because the air was cool and damp, and because of the noises outside. Daytime in a neighborhood like this was full of honking cars, thumping music, and shouted profanities spiraling up from the street. At night the sound of distant sirens was the only thing to distract from an unnatural, suspicious quiet. It was as though the entire block had agreed to let one another continue dealing heroin and smuggling prostitutes, as long as they did so in silence.

Frank was awake. Matt could hear him breathing, slightly irregular, facing towards him from his spot on the floor. Matt sat up slowly, and Frank’s pulse increased. He knew he was staring blankly in Frank’s direction, but he couldn’t make himself stop. 

Matt had never really felt at home in any of his apartments, like nothing he could do to them would ever make them his own. But somehow, with a hard mattress and a pair of boots by the door, Frank had filled up his own space like a poison. He was everywhere, in Matt’s mouth and ears and head. It was intoxicating. Both too much, and not enough.

“You alright, Red?” Frank said. His voice was very quiet, but it surrounded Matt all the same, like hands around his throat.

“Why am I here, Frank?” He said. 

“Where? On Earth, in Manhattan…or in my bed?”

“Any of them. All of them. Just…” He needed something to bring him back down. He could hear everything around him perfectly, more than perfectly, and yet once again he felt as though he was adrift in outer space. He couldn’t hear the Yakuza’s heartbeats. Perhaps because Frank’s was pounding it’s steady beat in his ears. 

“What are we doing?”

Frank sat up on the floor. Matt could feel his eyes on his face.

“We’re helping each other,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, as though daring Matt to disagree.

But Matt could never back down from a dare.

“Why?” He said. He hoped Frank would stand up, hoped he’d hear his nostrils flair in irritation, hoped he’d snap at him. But Frank just blinked a few times and took a calming breath.

“‘Cause we both need it,” he said, almost to himself.

Matt nodded slowly.

“Come here,” he said.

Frank just looked at him for awhile, like he was considering refusing. But then he got up and crossed the few feet of creaking wood floor, sinking onto the hard mattress beside Matt.

Frank leaned his elbows on his knees and looked sideways at him.

“How's the wound?”

“I’ll be fine,” Matt said. It was true, he’d been through far worse. But he found himself lifting his shirt to show Frank the bandage over his ribs.

Frank grunted, then reached out and pressed a hand over the bandage. It was warm. After a moment his thumb strayed to bare skin and rubbed a feather-light circle over Matt’s ribs. Matt tried to keep his breathing even, tried not to lean into the touch. He wanted to smell his blood all over Frank’s hand, wanted those nails to sink into his skin. But then the pressure was gone.

“It’s not bleeding much,” he said. “Don’t think it’ll have to be changed ‘til morning.”

Matt nodded. Frank’s eyes moved away from him and the place where they left felt cold. Without thinking about it, Matt pulled off his shirt entirely. He knew his hair was sticking up in the back, and he knew that Frank was looking at it.

“What are you doing?” Frank breathed, voice low and surprised. Matt shrugged.

“What do you want me to do?” He said, surprised at his own nerve.

To his irritation, Frank chuckled.

“What?” Matt said, embarrassment heating his face.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you scared before, Red,” Frank said, a smile on his lips.

_I’m not scared._ Matt caught the words just before they came out of his mouth, knowing how pathetic they would sound.

“You think I’m scared?” He said instead.

He felt Frank’s eyes move slowly over his chest and up to his face.

“Aren’t you?” Frank said.

He was, there was no denying it. It was a fear he’d never experienced before, quiet and deep. But there was something else too, something expanding in his chest, flowing over into his mind even as he became aware of it. He itched with it, felt his hands shake with it. 

They found Frank’s skin of their own accord, settling on his neck and in his hair. Frank let out a slow, steadying breath, turning to face him. Matt pressed their foreheads together, their noses touching, their lips only an inch apart. Frank reached up and held onto Matt’s elbows like he was going to slip away. Matt could hear Frank’s every tick, could almost hear his thoughts.

Then Frank had a hand on the back of Matt’s neck and he was kissing him. It was different than at the gala, different than in Matt’s apartment. It was slow and deep and dirty and so _real_ that Matt was almost high with the feeling of it. Frank held his face in his hands and sucked on his tongue, one hand tugging lightly at his hair, until Matt couldn’t take it.

He leaned forward, breaking the kiss with a ragged breath, and threw a leg over Frank, straddling him. He ran a hand under Frank’s shirt, wanting to feel every scar and bad decision that had put it there, and kissed down his neck, breathing him in. Frank, breath heavy, pulled him closer, one hand on his ass. They were both getting hard. It was obvious under the thin sweatpants fabric. Matt pulled Frank’s shirt up and over his head, throwing it on the floor. He ran his hands over his bare chest, tracing the chords of muscle, and licked the inside of his mouth. Frank hummed into his mouth.

“This what you want, Red?” Frank whispered, one arm tight around the small of his back.

“Shut up,” Matt said, mouth on his jaw, but Frank leaned away from him.

“What do you want?” 

“You know what I want,” Matt said, trying to kiss him again, but Frank held up a hand to stop him.

“Need to hear you say it,” he said.

Matt rolled his hips, enjoying Frank’s groan, and kissed his neck.

“Fine. I want you to fuck me. Is that what you want?” Matt said, grinding against him steadily, “I want to hear you say it too, Frank.”

Frank was vibrating beneath him, gripping his arm so hard it might bruise. He groaned when Matt ran his thumb under the waistband of his pants, and Matt felt Frank’s cock twitch beneath the fabric.

“You have no idea how many things I want to do to you, Red,” Frank said. His voice was low and dangerous.

“What do you want to do to me?” Matt whispered, biting Frank’s earlobe.

“I want to tie you up like that night on the roof. I want to fuck you until you can’t say anything but my name. I want to keep you locked in here so no one can hurt you.”

_No one but you,_ Matt thought.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” Frank said into his neck, and Matt pushed him away and sat back on the bed.

“Get these off,” he said, tugging at Frank’s sweatpants. He pulled off his own and threw them aside. He heard Frank do the same, and he pushed him onto his back and lay on top of him, kissing him hard, feeling their cocks slide against one another and remembering the feel of Frank’s come in his mouth.

The sound and smell and feel of Frank naked beneath him was overpowering. He straddled him and Frank ran a hand down his back and over his ass.

“Do you have—?” Matt started, but Frank kissed him and sucked on his tongue before his could finish.

“Hang on,” Frank said, letting go of him after a moment, and Matt rolled off of him.

He crossed the room and rummaged through drawers.

“You ever done this before?” He said when he returned. He knelt on the bed, and Matt sat up to face him. The dull scent of lubricant surrounded him.

“Does it matter?” Matt said. He leaned forward and ran his lips along Frank’s collarbone, feeling him shudder beneath him.

“Get on your knees,” Frank growled at him, and his voice nearly snapped Matt in half. He felt his fingertips go numb with a thrill as he let Frank pull him up and turn him around. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been harder in his life. Frank ran his hands all the way down his back and tailbone, and his forefinger, cold and covered in lube just barely pushed inside him. Matt could smell the arousal on him, but Frank hesitated.

“You sure you want—?”

“Frank,” Matt said, “shut up and fuck me.”

Frank suppressed a moan, Matt could hear it rumbling in his chest as he pressed a calloused finger inside. Matt went still with the feeling of it. It was odd, heady and overwhelming as Frank opened him up slowly, adding another finger when he was ready. He remembered trying this on himself once as a teenager, fully engulfed by a blanket like he was hiding from God. It had felt good, and bad, and so very wrong that he had stopped and tried to strike the memory from his mind.

“You alright, Red?” He could feel Frank’s voice in his bones. “You’re tensing.”

“Fine,” he said, wanting Frank to get on with it already. He was already leaking onto the sheets. 

It felt strange, but good, until Frank hit a spot inside that made him cry out and see stars. He pressed back against Frank’s hand, finding a slow rhythm, and Frank’s arousal sharpened. He leaned down over him and Matt could feel Frank’s cock hard against his leg.

“Bet I could get you off like this, Red,” Frank whispered behind him. “Just let you fuck yourself on my fingers until you come all over the sheets. Maybe I should tie you up like this, on your hands and knees in my bed—”

Matt couldn’t take it anymore. He threw Frank off of him and turned around. Frank lay on his back as Matt straddled him, feeling Frank’s cock line up with the cleft of his ass. He listened to Frank's ragged puffs of breath and, knowing that Frank’s eyes were wide and drinking him in, Matt repositioned himself and sank down slowly onto Frank’s cock, feeling his muscles pulse and stretch around him. Frank’s heart beat skyrocketed, and his hands clenched tight around Matt’s back, holding him in place. 

It was almost too much. But then he moved and felt the drag of Frank inside him. He gripped a handful of Frank’s hair and leaned down to brush their lips together. It was light and teasing and Matt felt goosebumps erupt across his body. 

"Red—" Frank breathed, pulling him closer to kiss him for real. He slid their tongues together as he began to roll his hips, and Matt realized all at once that he’d been looking for this, searching for it, for far too long. He pulled back from the kiss and clenched his jaw because that thought threatened to suffocate him.

“Fuck—Matt—you feel so fucking good,” Frank mumbled, mouth pressed to the side of his face as he thrust up into him.

It was too real, too perfect, too _good._

Frank sat up suddenly and wrapped one hand around Matt’s cock. He stroked slowly as Matt rode him, forcing himself to go slow. He felt like he might burst out of his skin. His hands were shaking as they gripped Frank’s shoulder blades. 

He knew Frank could feel it coming off of him, the waves of strange, savage energy, because he held him tighter and breathed into his ear.

“What do you want?” Frank said, his voice as rough as the hands gripping Matt’s skin.

“I want you to tear me apart,” Matt said, and when Frank kissed him again he felt blood in his mouth, and felt his skin break around jagged fingernails. He wanted more, he wanted to fall off a rooftop, wanted to be set on fire.

Frank turned Matt around, pushed him onto all fours, and drove into him. The sound of skin on skin filled Matt’s head as Frank’s hips snapped against him. Matt fell onto his elbows and cried out when Frank hit his prostate, slamming into it. He let himself moan, feeling it in his throat and letting it surround him, relishing the sting of Frank’s fingernails in his skin as he fucked him.

For the first time in a long time Matt wished for his sight. He wished that he could turn his head and see Frank's lips parted around a moan, could see his short hair matted and standing on end. He wished he could see his eyes.

Frank’s hands ran over his shoulders and down his back and he knew that Frank was going to come, could feel it in the thrum of his body. Frank let out a ragged breath and a grunt that sounded no different than if Matt had hit him in the face. He came hard, driving into Matt until his rhythm faltered and slowed.

Matt realized his own breath was coming out in keening bursts. His face was half-buried in the pillow, fist wrapped in the sheets, and he was desperate to be touched. Frank pulled him upright on his knees in front of him and wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him quickly as Matt thrust up into his hand. Frank held him tightly against his chest. He sucked a bruise into Matt’s neck and bit his earlobe.

“Fucking hell, Murdock,” he said against his ear, and it was the sound of his voice and the heat of his breath that did it. Matt felt the pressure build impossibly tight, then he was coming all over Frank’s hand and the sheets, too far gone to feel bad about it.

The orgasm swept away from Matt like a tide, leaving him almost limp in Frank’s arms. Frank held him upright against him, lips going soft on his neck as he pulled out of him and let go of his softening cock.

Matt could feel Frank breathing behind him, feel his chest expanding like it might open and engulf him. Frank kissed a line down his neck, his arms shaking slightly, and Matt wanted to stay in this quiet forever. He could almost convince himself they were the only two people alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was my first time writing a sex scene.... it was very daunting lol

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based on "FOOLS" (Only Fools fall for you..) by Troye Sivan. Not for any reason really, just love the song X)  
> 


End file.
